


Broken

by MUSEquera



Category: Muse
Genre: Angst, Drama, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friendship/Love, M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 20:20:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MUSEquera/pseuds/MUSEquera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fight. Cold anger. The breakdown of a relationship?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"What are we doing?"

Lifting my head from the fist that I'm holding rigidly against the window frame, I look back at him, unable to resist the compulsion of his broken voice. He's sitting on the floor against the end of the bed with his arms dejectedly slumped on his raised knees, looking at me with tears in his eyes. I can't stand the sight of him, so I turn back to staring blankly out of the window.  
  
I do my best to ignore his question, but it hangs in the air between us like a physical presence in the room, gnawing at my frayed nerves, and I finally answer, my voice hollow, "I don't know."

It is god's honest truth. I have no idea what the fuck we are doing, in any conceivable possibility of meaning that can be attached to that statement.

All I know is that the last few weeks have been a nightmarish collage of arguments and recriminations. Of awkward tense silences and pointless shouting matches. Of angry sex, stripped of tenderness and meaning, used as a weapon. Of nights spent hugging my pillow while stubbornly ignoring the warm, desolate body lying beside me.

We are broken, and neither of us seems to know how to fix us.

So we do what comes natural, we lash out; every word, every silence, every action an excuse. And since each of us is more stubborn than the other, and both of us are constitutionally unable to back down once we get going, things just escalate and spiral out of control.

This is the result.

I am so consumed by anger that I had to move away before I hurt him, the few steps between the window and the bed the only thing that stopped me from laying into him until he was bloody at my feet. And the thing that scares me is, I don't really know why.

But I did walk away, and I take some comfort in the fact that under the insane anger that is choking me I did care enough to take those steps.

That thought brings me up short with a sharp intake of breath, and the world goes still around me, the sound of my heartbeat loud in my ears.

I do care.

The one single fact that has been central to my existence for the whole of my adult life, forgotten in the background noise of the endless bickering.

What are we doing, indeed.

In this moment of stillness in the middle of the chaos that we've become, I realise that this impotent rage that fills me is mostly pain. Mostly self inflicted. That by withdrawing from him I am hurting myself at least as much as I'm hurting him, driven by my inability to let go, to forgive and forget...

Forgive and forget what?

The anger suddenly drains away from me, leaving me empty. I rest my forehead on the cool windowpane, trying to remember how this whole mess started, and I can't for the life of me come up with an answer. I can't even remember which of us took the first shot in the skirmish that has led to this unending battle.

I slam my fist against the wood in frustration. If I weren't on the verge of tears I'd be laughing hysterically at the idiocy of the situation.

Now that I've given myself some space to think, it becomes painfully clear that we've been behaving like two spoilt bratty little kids on a game of chicken, keeping this... this thing going out of inertia and sheer bloody minded pigheadedness. That I still love him, more than it should be possible to love another human being. That, by the look of pain in his eyes just then, he still loves me too.

That we are not broken... not yet.

But we will be, if we don't put a stop to this. Because the hateful way in which we have been behaving towards one another has already damaged us; hopefully not beyond repair, but certainly to the point where it will require a conscious and concerted effort from both of us to heal the wounds we have inflicted.

It is as though I've woken up from a spell of sleep-walking to be confronted with the reality of the damage I've caused while asleep. Only I wasn't asleep. And there are no excuses. There is only one option for me—for us, if I want there to be an 'us'.

To take those few steps and go to him; to beg his forgiveness, not for whatever real or imagined slight started this, if it was indeed me who started it, but for letting it get to this. For using his love for me as a tool to hurt him. For taking an unholy delight in his pain.

It is now or never.

With a deep breath, I push off the window and turn around, freezing as I come face to face with him. Eyes shining with tears, he touches my face as though afraid I might slap his hand away, saying, "I want this to stop, but I don't know how to. I'm sorry. Please help me." and my heart breaks at the fear in his eyes and the pain in his voice.

I try to speak, to reassure him, but the words don't make it past the lump in my throat that's threatening to choke me. Afraid that he will take my silence as rejection, I do the only thing I can do. I take him in my arms and hold him to me, whispering broken 'I'm sorrys' while the tears running down my face soak into his hair.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

I can't stand this. I can't stand the way we are, this cold misery of anger and withdrawal. I want him back. I want us back. Supposing there is an 'us' left anymore. I look at him standing by the window to avoid looking at me, his shoulders rigidly set, and the tears roll down my face again at the thought of losing him.

Stopitstopitstopitstopit.  
  
I rub furiously at my face, trying to stop my pitiful crying. It seems as though it is all I do of late. I can't just sit here crying my eyes out like a fucking girl while this barrier we've erected between us grows to the point that we can no longer reach across it.

I don't want to fight anymore. I am weary of walking on eggshells, afraid that the next word, the next look, will set us off again. I'm sick of the moat that our bed has become, a barren space full of sighs and tears and unfulfilled desires. But most of all I am sick of myself for being a willing, no, an enthusiastic participant in this systematic destruction of all that we are.

It stops now.

I know that getting close to him right now might not be the best idea, given the look on his face before he walked away, but I don't care. At this point, being decked is a better option than carrying on like we are. Anything is better than this.

And right now he looks as miserable as I feel, the way his shoulders have caved in, no longer held rigid in anger. So I gather my courage, get back on my feet, and walk up to him, intent on making amends regardless of the cost. Just as I am about to speak, though, he turns around, eyes widening in surprise at finding me there.

Afraid he'll shoot me down before I have a chance to speak, I raise an unsteady hand to his face, the first tender touch between us in what seems forever. It feels so good... I'd forgotten what it's like to feel his skin under my fingers, and I struggle to control the tears as I mourn that loss, blurting out the first thing that comes to mind, a plea for help and forgiveness.

After a long pause, so long that my heart drops all the way to my feet thinking I've failed, he pulls me into his arms and holds me to him, and I close my eyes in relief and melt into him, both of us whispering tumbled apologies through our tears.

I don't know how long we stand holding on to one another, but eventually he pulls back, and I cling to him desperately, not wanting to let go. I've missed this so much, the warmth and strength and comfort if his body around mine, the softness of his lips on my skin, that losing it again, however briefly, makes me feel physically sick.

Gentle hands pull mine away from their clutch on his shirt, and he says, soothingly, "Shhhh, it's ok, I'm not going anywhere, I just want to look at you." and I finally stop fighting him, letting him take a step back, his hands on my shoulders maintaining the contact between us.

My reward is the look in his eyes as they meet mine. I've become so used to seeing either cold fury or indifferent dismissal in them that I'd forgotten how much warmth and softness and love they can hold.

Looking at me the way he used to, he lifts his hands off my shoulders and, cradling my face in them, kisses me softly. I try to keep my eyes open, I don't want to miss a single moment of seeing him like this, but they close of their own accord as he licks my lower lip, asking permission to take it further.

Starved of him, desperate for him, I place my hands on his and open to him, my breath and pulse hitching up at the way he kisses me, gently, tenderly, undemanding and unhurried, as though he and I, this kiss, this moment, are the only things that matter in the whole world.

After an eternity of kissing that is somehow not enough, his lips leave mine with a sigh and he pulls me to him again, holding me so tight that I can hardly breathe as he says, "I'm so sorry, love. I'm sorry... God, I missed you." Tight as he's holding me, it's not close enough. I need more. I need to feel that this is real, that the nightmare is over.

"I need you. Please make love to me?" I ask shyly, my voice thready and uncertain. He freezes, his arms going slack around me, and I want the earth to swallow me. What were you thinking? I berate myself. Too soon. Too needy. Eyes down, I take a step back, "I'm sorry, I..." That's all I manage, because I peek up at him then, and the way he's looking at me shuts me up.

I just stand there with my mouth still open, words dying half-formed in my throat, the fire in his eyes holding me captive until, without removing his eyes off mine, he takes my hand and starts walking backwards, leading me to the bed.

Once he hits the bed, he lets go off me, toes his shoes off and crawls onto it, making me giggle at the way his bum moves. He smiles his wide, bright smile at me over his shoulder and he looks so beautiful that my heart stutters in my chest mid-giggle. He turns to me then, sits on his heels and, still smiling, extends his hand to me, softly commanding, "Come."

In a daze, I get rid of my shoes and make my way across to him until I'm sitting on my heels in front of him, our knees touching and my hand in his. Slowly, he brings it to his lips to kiss my knuckles and then, looking up at me from under his fringe, places a kiss on my palm and skims his lips along the inside of my arm.

I shiver as goosebumps bloom on my skin, and the way my body wakes to his touch makes me want to cry as I realise how long it's been, how far apart we'd grown. "I'm sorry..." I don't think I'll ever be able to say it enough to make up for the last few weeks, but he stops me with his fingers across my lips.

"No. No more apologies." he says firmly, shaking his head, "No more looking back. This, right here, is where we start again." He smiles at me then, removing the gentle gag to comb his fingers through my hair, "You ok with that?”

Could it be that easy? Draw a line in the sand of our relationship, saying, 'that was then, this is now', step over it and just move on? Before my doubting brain has finished thinking about it, though, my hopeful heart has already made the decision to trust him, and I nod, smiling back at him, "Yeah, I'm ok with that."

"Come here, then." he says and, taking hold of my hips, he guides me until I'm straddling him with my arms loosely wrapped around his neck. Once he has me where he wants me, his hands slip under my tee, and I sigh as they made contact with my skin to glide up my back in a long, slow caress.

I squirm as his thumbs brush my armpits on the way up, and he takes the opportunity to push the bunched fabric up my arms and over my head. "Better." he says, looking at me hungrily, and leaning in to take one of my nipples in his mouth. I cry out, my hands fisting convulsively in his shirt and my hips moving against him, the friction making both of us hiss and curl into one another.

Any hesitation, any lingering restraint evaporates in that moment of electric pleasure. Our mouths meet in a painful clash of teeth, and we fall in a tangle on the bed, attacking one another's clothes in an urgent frenzy to remove all obstacles between our bodies.

Once there's nothing but skin separating us, he settles between my thighs and, propping himself up on an elbow, runs his free hand along my flank, saying, "Much better." and I stretch and arch under his touch, wanting more. "So eager!" he whispers in my ear, making me whimper and buck into him as he rakes his teeth down my neck to nibble at my collarbone while his hand closes possessively on my hip.

I'm more than eager. I'm primed and ready for him, throbbing and weeping, and I can hardly breathe with wanting him. I whimper again, this time in frustration, writhing under him, begging, "Please." and he looks up at me, eyes dark, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to tease you," he says softly, kissing me, "I got lost in you."

He reaches towards the bedside table, but I stop him, holding onto his hand, "No." He looks at me, confused, "No?" I shake my head, bringing his hand to my mouth, "Oh!" he breathes out as I start sucking on his fingers, and then my eyes close and my jaw slackens when he starts pumping them in and out, slowly fucking my mouth.

Removing his fingers once he's satisfied they are sufficiently wet, he half-rolls us so we are lying on our sides, hitching my leg over his hip and running his fingers between my buttocks to pet my hole. I squirm in his arms, pushing into his fingers, dying to be filled, but he moves them away. "Don't, love," he says gently when I whine in protest, "I don't want to hurt you, it's been a while."

I don't care if it hurts. I want him in me. Now. But I know he won't give in to my recklessness, so I stop trying. I rest my head on his shoulder, panting with need, and he takes up the petting again until the ring of muscle relaxes. He stops then, one finger poised pressing slightly in, and kisses my hair, saying, "Now."

With a sigh of relief I bear down on his finger, gradually impaling myself on it, and I bite on his pec to stop myself from crying out at the onslaught of sensation as my flesh takes him in, the initial discomfort soon obliterated by pleasure.

As soon as he's fully in, he takes control again, finding a rhythm, stretching me, one finger at a time, until I'm panting for him. "Ready?" he whispers, and I look up at him, eyes half-lidded with lust, nodding eagerly. Chuckling, he gently withdraws his fingers and leans in to kiss me while I wantonly rub myself against him.

I don't think I've ever been more ready. I break the kiss with a sigh and reach between us to stroke my cock, gathering the sticky moisture that pools at the slit. He hisses as I take him in my hand, and watches in fascination as I brush over his head to coat it with our mingled precome until it's slick and glossy.

"Now you're ready too." I say, letting go of him and, with a kiss to his nose, flip onto my belly, bringing my knees up until my arse is up in the air, and spread myself for him, saying, "Now, would you please, please get in me?"

With a muted whimper, he scrambles to kneel between my legs and, holding onto my hips, he positions himself until the tip of his cock is lined up with my hole. He enters me slowly, and I bite down on the pillow to stop myself from screaming at the exquisite feeling of his cock gliding smoothly in to fill me while my flesh flutters around him.

Once he's fully seated inside me he pauses and, wrapping his arms around my waist and chest, he sits back on his heels and pulls me me up until I'm sitting on his lap, my back flush with his chest, and we both cry out as he settles deeper inside me.

His lips brushing the skin between my shoulderblades, he whispers, "I love you." and I squeeze my eyes closed, fighting the tears that threaten to overwhelm me. Tears of relief and joy and need and a love so consuming that it hurts. "I love you." I answer, letting my head fall back against his shoulder, my voice broken, choked by pleasure and emotion.

Tightening his arms around me, his lips and his breath hot on my skin, he kisses his way up the side of my neck, his mouth latching onto my pulse point, licking and nibbling and sucking, sending shivers up and down my spine and making my inner muscles tighten around him in reflex.

"Oh, god." he moans as his cock twitches inside me in response, and his hand tightens on my belly to hold me closer, "I'd almost forgotten how wonderful you feel." I want to tell him that having him inside me is something I dreamt of every night while I lay beside him crying myself to sleep, that his body is my comfort, that having his arms around me feels like coming home, that he is my life, that he owns me, body and soul...

But I am afraid that once I start I won't be able to stop the tears. Instead, I snake my arm back around his neck to pull him in for a kiss. I need him inside me in every possible way, and he responds to my need, his tongue plundering my mouth, and I can feel the taut muscles in this thighs contracting against my bum as he starts an almost imperceptible rock of his hips, every minute motion amplified a millionfold as he rubs against my prostate, sending me into a tailspin.

It is sweet, agonising torture, this mindblowing, spiraling, slow build-up, his arms holding me captive, preventing me from pushing back against him. I startle myself with the inhuman sound that starts deep in my throat as a strangled groan and becomes a moaning purr as it is released into his mouth.

"Beautiful." he says, letting go of my lips without stopping the maddening cadence of his hips, his voice deep and husky as he goes on, "I love it when you do that." I can only whimper in response, my brain fuzzy with lust, and he chuckles darkly, running one hand teasingly down my belly.

"Please." I beg when his hand detours to caress my inner thigh, ignoring my poor neglected cock. "Shhhh, I'm working my way to you, my love." he says, kissing the sweet spot behind my ear and backtracking to flutter his fingers up the underside of my cock, and his touch is so electrifying that I come undone, spilling over his hand, and not even his strong arm around my waist can stop my hips from bucking while I clench around him. "Oh, fuck!" he growls between gritted teeth, wrapping himself tightly around me as he empties himself inside me.

Loosening his hold on me, he rests his forehead on my back, rocking me lightly while we recover our breath, and I close my eyes, letting myself feel again; at peace, content, fulfilled, for the first time in weeks.

I can feel his lips twitching into a smile against my skin, and I turn my head to look at him. "Hair trigger, much?” he drawls, his eyes dancing with mischief. I struggle to suppress the wild giggling bubbling inside me, but I give up the ghost as I feel his body shaking with barely contained mirth, and suddenly we are toppling sideways on the bed in an undignified heap, indulging in a veritable gigglefest.

Eventually, we stop our flailing, ending up with him lying on his back and me flopped loosely across the bed with my head on his chest, high on endorphins and hiccuping with the occasional leftover giggle, enjoying the feeling of his fingers combing lazily through my hair, thinking I could stay like this for ever and count myself the happiest man on earth.

After a while, he scratches my scalp lightly, saying, "Come back up here?” I don't need to be asked twice, scrambling up to lie next to him, and he turns on his side until we are nose to nose, gathering me in his arms and kissing me softly. "Never again," he says, his eyes boring holes into mine, "I promise, never again."

I close my eyes, overwhelmed by his intensity, but he shakes me lightly, saying, with an odd catch to his voice, "No, please, love, look at me." Opening my eyes again, I'm startled to see tears in his eyes, and my hands fly to his face, my lips tasting salt on his skin as I kiss him. "What is it?” I ask, my heart in my mouth, "What's wrong?" He shakes his head and smiles at me through the tears, "Nothing."

I look at him in confusion, and he wrinkles his nose in frustration, pointing at himself, "This is me, promising you that I will never let us go to bed angry at one another ever again." He sighs, looking away, but then looks back at me, his eyes firm again, "I can't promise you that we'll never fight again, but I can promise you this: no matter what, I will never, ever hurt you or deny you. I'd rather die than see pain in your eyes again, knowing it was I who put it there."

I open my mouth to speak, but he stops me, one finger across my lips, "No, I'm not done." he says gently, "just hear me out, yeah?" I nod, and he replaces his finger with his lips in a brief kiss. "I need to get this off my chest. I know that you know, but I need to tell you. Now, before we move on." He smiles at me, making my breath catch in my throat as he goes on, "I love you. I need you more than I need the air I breathe. I am yours for as long as you will have me."

He stops for a moment, looking away again, as though seeking inspiration in the grey London afternoon before bringing his eyes back to mine, saying quietly, "I don't have the words to tell you how much I love you, so I'll just borrow someone else's: _Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried. May the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely, if anything but death separates you and me_."

I look at him open mouthed, shock and wonder and an overwhelming joy filling me. Ruth's vow to Naomi. The most beautiful and eloquent words of love and commitment ever uttered. These are the words that this man I love more than my own life has chosen to tell me of his love for me.

Suddenly I cannot breathe through the lump that has taken residence in my throat, and I clutch at him, burying my face in his chest, and he holds me to him, his hands gentle as they stroke my back, his lips soft on my hair as he whispers, "I missed you. Welcome home, my love."

 

 


End file.
